[Scott's PoV]
Scott was in love with Mitch, and it was killing him.
It was after three in the morning, and Mitch was curled against him, softly crying himself to sleep.
Scott had come home that night to find Mitch crying and throwing up a bottle of wine. Scott had cleaned him up, pressing a damp towel to the back of his neck as he heaved into the toilet. Mitch was crying over his latest boy toy, James or Jackson or something like that, and he crawled into Scott's bed a few hours later. He had kissed Scott, crying, asking Scott to hold him. Scott couldn't say no. He could never say no.
This wasn't the first time this had happened, nor was it the second, or third, or tenth. Every time Mitch broke up with a boyfriend, or partied too long, or drank too much, he would kiss Scott, or cuddle him, or tell him that he loved him. And the next morning he would forget, or pretend to, at least.
"Scott," Mitch mumbled sleepily, "You're the best, dunno what I'd do without you."
Scott stroked his hair, blinking back the tears creeping into the edge of his vision.
"I love you Scott, I really do," Mitch mumbled again.
Scott cleared his throat. "I love you too Mitchie," he said, looking down at the perfect boy lying in his arms. He sighed, seeing Mitch had already drifted off.
"I should write you a song," Scott continued, speaking to his unconscious friend. "I should write down how it feels when you lay in my arms and sing it to you."
Scott swallowed, but didn't let himself stop. "But it wouldn't do you justice. I could never put down in words what you are to me. I love you so much it hurts. You're everything to me, and I know that you never mean it when you tell me that you love me, but I do." He gulped, squeezing Mitch tighter. "And I know you won't remember this in the morning, and if you do, you won't care. You'll keep me wrapped around your finger as you hop from boy to boy, but I don't mind."
Scott laughed bitterly, "It's worth it. You're worth it. I'll let you rip my heart apart tomorrow morning like you have a hundred times, and I'll still be here for you. Because I love you Mitch."
Scott cried then, hating himself because he knew he could never hate Mitch. He slid out from Mitch's grasp, exiting the room quietly.
He began cleaning up the mess Mitch had made in their living room; reorganizing couch cushions, throwing away food, and picking up the coffee table that Mitch had knocked over. Scott found multiple partly-drunken bottles of wine, and he scooped one up, flopping onto the couch.
"Here's to you, Mitch," he chuckled, tipping the bottle to his lips, hoping to drown out his self-loathing, at least until morning.
[Mitch's PoV]
He awoke the next morning in Scott's bed, his head pounding. He frowned when he realized he was alone, as he usually preferred to wake up in his roommate's arms. Vaguely, he tried to piece together the events of last night.
His boyfriend of five weeks, Jeremy, had dumped him, and he had decided to drown his sorrows with a few bottles of wine. Mitch grimaced, he had told himself he needed to stop. Stop boy-hopping, stop drinking, stop partying, but last night the pain had been too much, he had needed a way to soften it.
He remembered drinking more than he had in a while, storming around their apartment, cursing Jeremy, cursing himself for being so weak, and cursing Scott for not being with him.
Scott. Scott was always there for him. He held him when he was hurting, helped pick him up when he was down.
And he'd done it again. Fallen into Scott's strong arms, kissed him, poured his pathetic little heart out to him.
'I don't deserve him,' Mitch thought, biting his lip angrily. 'I'm toxic. Just because I destroy myself doesn't mean I can drag Scott down with me. I have to stop.'
He knew it was useless. It was the same speech he always gave himself after these nights. After he used Scott to stop his loneliness, to stop all of the pain.
'One day he'll leave me forever,' he thought. 'He'll realize what a piece of shit I am and scrape me off of his shoe.'
Mitch stood slowly, grimacing at the pain shooting through his skull. He stumbled into the living room, surprised to see Scott asleep on the couch, an empty bottle beside his hand. Mitch inhaled sharply, noticing how exhausted Scott looked. He was so pale he looked gray, with large bags hanging underneath his eyes.
'Never again,' he promised. 'I'm not going to hurt you anymore.'
Mitch tip-toed past Scott into the kitchen, stumbling to find the bottle of aspirin. When he did, he dumped two into his hand and swallowed them with a cough. He opened their fridge, grabbing a water bottle and struggling to uncap it. The pain burning behind his eyes made the world around him hazy.
When he got the bottle open, Mitch gulped half of it down in one chug, coughing and sputtering.
"Mitch…" At the sound of his name, Mitch turned quickly, too quickly, to see Scott standing in the doorway.
He looked even worse awake, his eyes red and puffy as he leaned heavily on the doorframe.
"Scott!" Mitch jumped, surprised, "You should go back to sleep." He looked away, guilt hitting him like a fist driving into his stomach.
"Can't," Scott growled, closing the distance between them as he crossed the room.
Mitch backed away, bumping into the counter behind him. His heart pounded violently against his chest. "Scott, what're you-"
He froze when Scott stopped inches away from him, close enough that Mitch could smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off of his skin.
Scott was frightening him, hulking over Mitch in silence, staring down into his eyes with an emotion Mitch couldn't decipher.
They remained that way, frozen for a long moment, until Scott reached around Mitch, grabbing the bottle of pills from the counter. He retreated from Mitch, who let out a shaky breath as Scott stepped backwards.
Scott upturned the bottle, dumping a handful into his palm, and knocked them back.
"Headache," he muttered, staggering out of the kitchen.
Mitch's heart beat in his ears, and he found himself holding his breath as Scott shuffled away.
Mitch had never felt this guilty. Scott had never acted this… this strange. Mitch counted on Scott to be there for him, always smiling and full of life. But Mitch was stealing that from him. Draining away his very essence every time he kissed him, held him, dragged him into his bed.
Mitch clapped a hand to his mouth, catching a sob. He raced from the kitchen, tearing past a bewildered Scott into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
When he flipped the lock into place, Mitch let himself sink to the floor, sobbing into his drawn-up knees.
"Mitch?" he jumped at the sound of Scott's voice. "Mitch, what is it? What's wrong?"
The worry in Scott's voice only fed the flames of Mitch's guilt, and he couldn't manage a response.
"Mitch, please, are you hurt? Let me in, Mitch let me help…" Scott begged.
It was so tempting. To reach up and unlock the door, to let Scott in and collapse into his arms.
"No!" Mitch choked, "I'm fine, just," he gulped, "Just leave me alone."
He continued sobbing as he heard Scott's footsteps rush out of the apartment, his throat swollen shut as he tried to call after him.
